


Happy Birthday, My Love

by matchst_ck



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dog cameo, happy birthday snelena, survived the fall, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchst_ck/pseuds/matchst_ck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will questions Hannibal on his childhood birthday celebratory practices. Conversation and fluffiness ensues. There's a dog cameo too. [A small birthday ficlet for the wonderful Elena. Happy Birthday Elena!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elena0206](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena0206/gifts).



> I can't draw so I wrote. I really hope you enjoy this small offering Elena and I hope you have a wonderful birthday :) Also, there is Latvian used thanks to Google Translate so I do hope it's correct and I apologise if I made any mistakes with any Latvian birthday traditions. Onwards!

They each took a side of the couch, afghan rug beneath them, fire blazing in front of them and miniature dachshund in the middle of them. The miniature dachshund, Lazarus Tiberius III or more commonly known as Tibby (named by Hannibal, nicknamed by Will) sneezed. Hannibal discreetly wiped his hand on his handkerchief.

“You know you think you’re being discreet when you do that. You’re really not Hannibal.” Will laughed, rolling the single malted scotch around his tumbler.

“As far as I am concerned I do not need to be discreet. I have allowed this creature space in our home. I will, however, not allow it to spread its germs around freely.” Tibby looked up at Hannibal imploringly and Will couldn’t help but scoff into his drink as Hannibal’s index finger came out to rub the bridge of her nose.

“So, this feels enough like therapy.” Will murmured. Hannibal raised an eyebrow but let him continue. “So tell me, Dr Lecter, do you never celebrate your birthday?”

Hannibal could count on one hand the number of times he had been shocked almost speechless. This would be the third. “How did you know?”

“I used to be a police officer and I worked with the FBI, give me some credit Hannibal.” Will smiled, softening the statement. “So, do you? Ever celebrate?” It was late in the evening and though the day had been an enjoyable one, it had not been a celebratory one. Will had waited the majority of the day to see if Hannibal would mention anything before realising that he would have to bring it up. 

Hannibal sipped his scotch, eyes scanning the flames of the fire before he breathed deeply, looking over at Will. “I did, as a child.” Another swig of scotch before he continued. “My mother would spend hours perfecting the baking of my birthday cake. _Sakotis_ , we call it. It looks like a beautiful fir tree with branches spilling out from all sides. My mother would let Mischa decorate it with flowers for me once she was old enough not to try and eat them.” Hannibal smiled sadly as Will laid a hand on his thigh at the mention of his sister.

“Didn’t your father ever make you a cake Will? Didn’t he ever try to substitute for your runaway mommy?” Hannibal prickled, tapping a nail against the glass. 

Will saw the barb for what it was. Asking Hannibal about his childhood was like picking at a scab that had never quite fully healed over. It would relent and bleed, but it would hurt a little all the same. “He did actually.” Will chuckled. “Only the once. He forgot to add the eggs and the cake was so lopsided it looked like pictures I had seen of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The icing was so runny that by the time I got to it, what should have read as ‘Happy Birthday, Will’ had slid off into a congealed mess on the table.”

Will looked up at him knowingly, expression letting Hannibal know that he wasn’t free from story time just yet. The older man huffed a soft laugh, giving Will’s fingers a squeeze, gently. Hannibal stood and headed towards the side table holding the scotch. He tipped the bottle, pouring out another finger for himself before turning to provide Will the same.

“Did you enjoy it? The celebration?” Will pressed, and Hannibal could see the interest in his eyes. He tipped his head in acquiescence.

“I did. I wasn’t always so calm and put together.” Hannibal grinned, sharp, crooked teeth on show. “I would spend half the night before my birthday creeping down the stairs to watch my mother prepare, before she would send one of the nursemaids after me with a wooden spoon. All in good fun of course, it got me back to bed for at least 10 minutes before I tried again. That’s when I learnt to be light on my feet.”

Will smiled brightly at the thought of Hannibal as a precocious child. Happy, at least before everything had changed. Hannibal walked over to the fireplace, turning away from Will as he leaned on the mantle. 

“My mother would present me with my gift and always, _always_ press her lips to my forehead and say _'Su gimtadieniu, mano mažas meilė‘_.“ Hannibal whispered.

“What does that mean?” Will questioned, and Hannibal spun around quite abruptly at the sound of his voice so close. Will took him by the elbow, steadying him. “You’re not the only one light on your feet.” Will smiled, giving the older man a second to recover.

“It seems not.” The doctor smiled, before continuing. “It means-” Hannibal cleared his throat, the slightest bit uncomfortable at his own lack of composure. But things had changed and this was Will. Trust was now implicit. “It means, ‘Happy birthday, my little love’.”

“Well,” Will began, removing the scotch tumbler from Hannibal’s loose grip and planting it safely on the mantle. “You’re not little anymore…” Will’s hands reached up to caress Hannibal’s cheeks which were cool to the touch despite being in front of the open fire. Hannibal tipped his head into the touch, feline in his response. “But you are most certainly my love.” Will pressed soft lips to Hannibal’s forehead and watched the doctor’s eyes close as he took a deep breath. Lips still brushing the skin, Hannibal’s hands came up to rest against straight hips as the younger man spoke.

“Happy Birthday, Hannibal.”


End file.
